


Ink

by RPGgirl514



Series: Ink-verse [1]
Category: Mulan (1998)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Dark Disney, Disney Angst, Gen, Gritty, Reflection, Tattoos, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-20 19:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4799711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RPGgirl514/pseuds/RPGgirl514
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulan gets a tattoo, struggles to reconcile her identity, and has a surprising chat with her father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink

**Author's Note:**

> War changes people. I wanted to write a story where the Mulan that runs off to take her father’s place is forever changed by her experiences in the war, and how that affects her homecoming. This is an AU ending to the movie that picks up right after the scene on the steps, when the emperor presents his crest to Mulan. The Mandarin throughout the story is from internet research and Google Translate, so it might be very wrong. Translation key can be found at the end.

The celebrations continued for another week after Shan Yu’s theatrical defeat, and as the heroes who saved China and the emperor, Captain Li and his soldiers were honored guests in the Imperial City until the gala was over.  They were pleased to rest after months of grueling training, travel, and combat.  Mulan withdrew from the festivities often, spending much of her time brooding in her quarters.  She was torn between the two halves of herself: awed and ashamed at what she had become.

Mulan recalled her reflection in the Fa family temple following the disastrous incident at the matchmaker’s house.  She gazed at herself in the mirror.  Was this who she was now?  The woman who had dishonored her family in every way imaginable?  Or the soldier and hero who had saved China?  Could she possibly be both?

On her last night in the capital, Mulan slipped away from the crowd, padding down alleys noiselessly.  Her left hand never left the hilt of her sword, sheathed through the sash of her gown in an awkward juxtaposition.  Many of the people she passed had not been close enough to the Imperial City to recognize her, and their eyes slid over her as if she were invisible.  She was just another faceless woman to them now.

Ling’s high voice cut through the din of the crowd.  “Ping! I mean -- Mulan!”

Mulan shook her head, brushing between two heavily painted concubines.  She appreciated everything Ling, Yao and Chien-Po had done to help, but this was something she had to do on her own.

“Mulan, wait!” Yao said.  “Chien-Po, can you --”

“MOVE ASIDE!”  Mulan almost stumbled -- she had never heard Chien-Po raise his voice before.  Her hesitation gave her former comrades enough time to catch up to her.

“We know where you’re going,” Ling said accusingly.  “We heard you.”

Mulan shrugged.  “So?”

“You can’t go alone,” Chien-Po said.

Mulan sighed.  She should have known this was coming, ever since they discovered her true identity.  “Why not?  Because I’m a woman?”

Yao growled, but Ling interrupted.  “No,” he said, as if it were obvious.  “Because we’re your friends.”

Mulan glanced between the three of them.  She didn’t have the time to dissuade them.  “Fine.  But keep up. Stay close and quiet.” Yao, Ling, and Chien-Po huddled closer to her as she continued on her way.

The alleys here were unpaved, dark, and grimy.  Mulan sidestepped a puddle of urine that Yao missed and he bit back a gravelly curse.  The farther they got from the palace, the fewer people they saw.  Mulan could feel eyes upon her, hungry for something she was unwilling to give.  Unlike the revelers of the crowd, they did notice the sword, and it gave them pause.  She noticed other unsavory characters loitering in the shadows, faces swathed in red by the crimson lanterns that marked this area as _hóngdēngqū_.  Mulan had defeated an army of Huns in battle and faced Shan Yu himself.  She knew she could defend herself if she needed to, but she was glad her friends had decided to come with her.  Mulan doubted any of the city’s criminal element would give a grain of rice that she was a war hero.

She veered off from the red light district into another twisting alley that was no less seedy, but thankfully devoid of cutpurses or hired knives.  Rude characters were scrawled across the grubby stone walls.  Mulan found the tiny yellow door wedged in the middle, a Chinese number four nailed to it.  Mulan rapped on the door in the pattern she had been told.

“Ping -- Mulan,” Ling corrected himself.  “Are you sure about this?”

She turned her head, taking him apart with a look.  Gone was the awkward, self-conscious, incompetent soldier Fa Ping.  Mulan had left him in the mountains.  “I’m sure,” she said.  Ling swallowed hard as the yellow door swung open to admit them.

* * *

 The four soldiers filed inside the tiny tattoo shop, past the thin, long-faced bouncer who had answered the door.  They did not fail to notice his arms were completely covered in ink.  In the middle of the shop, a thickset man sat astride a wooden stool that had clearly seen better dynasties.  He, too, bore more ink than skin.  A particularly fearsome dragon in indigo blue curled around his left eye, and he wore his long black hair in oiled braids, streaked with grey. His eyes were cold.   “Are you Wu Cheng?” Mulan asked, her voice strong.

He looked her over, his eyes lingering over her breasts and the sword at her waist.  His lip curled.  “You dare speak to me, _nán rén pó_?” He spat.

Yao stepped forward, his fist raised and his face a blotchy purple.  Ling made an inarticulate angry noise like a bird of prey.  Chien-Po put a hand on each of their shoulders to still them.

“This is the hero of China, and you will show her some respect,” Chien-Po said.

“I know who she is,” the tattooist said. “A woman who dresses like a man has no honor.”

“This woman has more honor in her _fingernail_ than your entire family,” snarled Yao.

Mulan felt her heart swell at the devotion and loyalty her friends showed in her defense, but she did not allow her expression to betray any emotion.  “Are you Wu Cheng?” she repeated.

“Yes,” he said finally, through gritted teeth.

“I will pay you twice your normal price for this,” she said, producing a pouch of copper coins and a slip of paper with a series of Chinese characters scribed upon it.

Wu Cheng took the paper from her and studied it.  “Where?”

Mulan swept her hair out of the way.  Ling produced a scrap of fabric, and she tied it up into the familiar top knot she had worn for the past few months.  She pointed to her spine where it joined her neck.  Wu Cheng grunted.  “Sit down,” he growled, turning away to prepare his tools.

By the time they emerged from the dingy shop and made their way back, the sun was beginning to rise and the revellers in the Forbidden City were still going strong, many of them intoxicated on báijiǔ3 or smoking cannabis through long, thin pipes out the corners of their mouths, the pungent, vegetal smoke curling up from the ends in wisps.  The four of them wore newly inked badges of honor, concealed beneath their clothes.  It struck Mulan with a particular poignance that after she left the capital, she would return to her old life and likely never see them again.  But they would still have this together.  It was a secret they shared -- these men would have died for her, and she for them.  They still would.

* * *

Summer had nearly faded into autumn by the time the familiar sight of the Fa home came into sight.  Mulan dismounted, leading Khan into the stable and lingering over his care, dreading the moment when she would have to face her family.  She gently set aside Shan Yu’s sword, wrapped in the crest of the emperor, though it was difficult not to thrust it away from her.  It was a reminder both of how she had succeeded, and how she had failed.  Mulan avoided looking at it as she continued her ministrations.

Khan nickered softly, sensing Mulan’s distress.  “It’s alright, boy,” she said, brushing his mane out.  “I’ll be fine.”

She set out some hay and a pail of water for Khan before emerging from the stables, her sense of foreboding growing with each step she took towards the house.  Mulan was exhausted and sore from her journey and long overdue for a wash.  Her once smooth, shiny black hair hung around her face, greasy and coarse.  Her fingernails, short and uneven, were encrusted with dirt and blood that seemed like it would never scrub out.  Her face was chapped and blotchy from riding against the wind.  A constant sword in her hand had calloused her palm and her feet were like leather from hard training and walking.  And even clothed as she was, the skin between her shoulder blades prickled, as though the marks she bore there were as visible as a beacon to everyone around her.

Mulan knocked on the door, the sound of her knuckles more confident than she felt. Grandmother Fa answered the door -- and immediately fainted.

“Grandma, who is it?” called Fa Li from the next room.  She rounded the corner and froze, eyes wide.

“Mulan?” she whispered.  The woman at the door was grimy and stone-faced and looked nothing like the daughter she knew.  It was an old soul who looked back at her now.

No, this could not be the little girl who had begged her parents for a sibling, and when they had brought home a dog, had promptly named him ‘Little Brother.’  This was not the girl who had climbed up onto the roof of the Fa family temple and imitated the voices of the ancestors until her grandmother ran back to the house raving about what sage (and frankly, ridiculous) advice they had given.  This was not even the same girl who had destroyed the matchmaker’s house, set her on fire, and doused her in hot tea scarcely a season ago.

“I’m home, Mama.”  This woman at the door sounded like her and looked like her, but it could not be.  That girl died the night she stole her father’s armor and took his place in the Chinese army.

Drawn by the commotion, Fa Zhou limped over to join his wife where she stood gaping at Mulan.  He gasped.  “It cannot be,” he said, his crutch clattering to the floor.

Mulan dropped to one knee.  She had respected her father before she had left, as was his due, but if it was possible, the military had opened her eyes to just how much more he deserved.  She held the sword proffered over her head.  “I bring you the sword of Shan Yu, and the seal of the emperor,” she said, her heart beating fast.  It would be a just punishment if she were banished -- she had dishonored her family by running away and impersonating a soldier.  Not even saving China could justify that -- could it?

Mulan felt her father’s presence as he came forward to accept the offering.  “You risked a great deal, Fa Mulan,” he said roughly, and her heart leapt.   _Her father had greeted her as an equal._   _One soldier to another._  “Stand and receive your reward.”  Mulan stood up and her father embraced her tightly.  Her mother came forward to rouse Grandmother Fa, and the two women held her, sobbing.  The loose neck of Mulan’s robe bowed out, exposing the bare flesh of the back of her neck.  Fa Zhou narrowed his eyes as he stepped away, but said only, “Welcome home, daughter.  When you are ready, I would be honored to speak with you privately in the garden.”

Mulan nodded curtly.  “Yes, father.”

* * *

 Fa Zhou was sitting on the bench beneath the cherry tree when Mulan came out to the garden.  Its blossoms, which had been in full bloom when she left home, had long since fallen and its branches were bare.  The tree had traded its feminine flowers for clean, bold lines, and so had she.

Mulan had washed up and done the best she could to look like a woman once more, but simply donning a gown could not erase the hard lines of her face nor disguise the firm contours of her muscles.  Even at rest she found herself slipping into the ready stance of a soldier.  She sat down beside her father and forced herself to wilt.   _Sit like a lotus, not a stalk of bamboo,_ she thought.

“Mulan,” Fa Zhou started quietly, resting both hands on top of his crutch, “do you remember what we spoke of at dinner the night before you left?”

“Yes, father,” Mulan said nervously, though she did not fidget now as she once might have.

“I told you, ‘It is an honor to protect my country and my family,’” he said solemnly.  “Did you find this to be true?”

Mulan nodded.

“I said I knew my place,” Fa Zhou went on.  “But that you had not yet learned yours.”  He sighed and closed his eyes.  “I prayed to the ancestors constantly that you would bring the Fa family honor by making a good match.  I thought that was your place.  When you failed to impress the matchmaker, I despaired.  I see now that I was wrong to pray for this.”

“Father?” Mulan asked, confused.

He met her eyes, his smile warm.  “You have found your place. You are a soldier, Fa Mulan.  Your place is protecting your country and your family -- just as mine was.”

Mulan slowly started shaking her head.  “It cannot be, father.  I am just a woman now.”

His smile turned sly.  “A woman with tattoos?”

So he had seen.  Mulan mouthed wordlessly at him.  Fa Zhou reached up to the neck of his tunic and pulled it aside.  Etched into the skin below the curve of his clavicle, in faded black ink, was the Chinese character for honor.  Mulan gaped at it in shock; she had never seen it before.

“Now, if you are ‘just a woman,’ as you say, I would guess at the values you have vowed never to forget.   _Ānjìng_ , perhaps?   _Yōuyǎ_ , or _jiāonèn_?  Or . . . _Zhǔnshí_?”  Mulan snorted.  Fa Zhou chuckled.  “Or did you request something more befitting of a soldier?"

Without a word, she turned so her back was to her father, sweeping her short hair up with one hand.  The neck of her dress dipped low in the back, exposing the characters to his view.  He brought up one hand to trace them in the air, though he didn’t touch her.

“ _Jiānghé, fēngbào,_ ” Fa Zhou said, clearly bewildered, “ _sēn, yěhuǒ, yin_.”

“My Captain was an outstanding officer,” she said slowly, turning to face her father.  “He taught me not only how to act like a soldier, but also how to think like one.”  She pointed over her shoulder, towards her ink.  “As swift as a coursing river.  As powerful and destructive as a storm.  Tranquil as a forest, but on fire within.”

“And _yin_?”

“Mysterious like the dark side of the moon, or,” Mulan smiled wryly, “like a woman.”

“Your Captain is very wise,” Fa Zhou said.  “Tell me his name.”

“Captain Li Shang,” Mulan said.  She frowned as if to herself.  “Our paths will probably never cross again.  It is a shame.  I would have liked you to meet him.  He has my utmost respect.”

Fa Zhou smiled.  “He has the respect of the soldier who saved China.  That is the greatest honor of all.”

“But Father, you have my respect as well.”  Mulan realized how childish it sounded as soon as she said it.  But how could she convey how her esteem for him had grown as she underwent similar trials and training?  How could she tell her father that she realized only now how dishonorable her behavior had been by running away and taking his place?  How could she tell him that she would do it again in a heartbeat to save his life, because she would have died doing what was right, just as he would have done?

Fa Zhou bowed his head.  “You honor me, _yīngxióng_.”

And Mulan smiled.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Mandarin Chinese key:**  
>  _hóngdēngqū_ \- red light district  
>  _nán rén pó_ \- tomboy (derogatory)  
>  _báijiǔ_ \- a strong distilled white spirit  
>  _ānjìng_ \- quiet, peaceful  
>  _yōuyǎ_ \- graceful, serene  
>  _jiāonèn_ \- delicate  
>  _zhǔnshí_ \- punctual  
>  _jiānghé_ \- great river  
>  _fēngbào_ \- storm  
>  _sēn_ \- forest  
>  _yěhuǒ_ \- wildfire  
>  _yin_ \- femininity, dark side of the moon (concept)  
>  _yīngxióng_ \- hero


End file.
